“That little thing?” Wendy said, looking over at Nasha, who stood at the end of the line. One of the older girls was directing what utensils she should put on her tray. “Is she even big enough to see over the steering wheel?”
“Barely. She was part of a much larger crew of young boys.”
“Doing what?”
“Distractions,” Sam said. “General thievery. And scouting for new victims. If I had to guess, the kids targeted Pete and Yaro the moment they arrived at the warehouse in Jalingo to pick up the supplies. They never had a chance.”
Wendy, her attention still on Nasha, finally turned toward Sam. “You think it’s safe to have brought her here?”
“I think so,” Remi said. She looked over at Amal. “What do you think?”
“Me?” She seemed surprised that anyone was bothering to ask her opinion. “I … I think she had to have been desperate to hide in the back of a truck. Especially knowing the Kalus would come after her.”
Hank also watched the child, his look troubled. “No doubt I’m prejudiced because I was the unwilling pickpocket victim. But I’ve seen her type before in Tunisia. She won’t be able to help herself. Things will turn up missing.”
“Maybe so,” Remi said. “But if not for her, we’d have driven right into an ambush. She’s the reason we fared as well as we did.”
“That, Mrs. Fargo,” Hank said, “was sheer luck. How do we know if her gang was or wasn’t part of the ambush?”
“I guess we don’t,” Remi said. “But she did say the Kalu brothers worked alone.”
“The word of a thief,” he replied, “is worth nothing.”
Amal, her face pale, her food untouched, pushed her chair back. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go lie down.”
Hank started to rise. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. Just tired after everything that’s happened.”
Sam, not wanting the conversation to devolve further, took a good look around the building. “You’ve made a lot of progress since we were out here last. Keep this up and you two will be back in California, hitting the beach, in no time.”
“It’s been moving along,” Pete said. “The mess hall was finished a couple of weeks ago.”
“We’ll be glad when the second dorm is done,” Wendy added.
“What happened to the idea of one large dorm?” Remi asked her.
“After thinking about it, we figured one for the younger girls, one for the older. I think it’ll be easier in the long run.”
Sam lifted his water glass. “Well done.”
“Agreed,” Remi said, lifting her own glass. “To Pete and Wendy.”
A loud crash interrupted their toast and the four looked over at Nasha and saw her looking horror-stricken, her tray on the ground in front of her, the soup splattered across the floor.
Remi started to rise, but Wendy stopped her. “She’ll be fine. Watch.” Within seconds, three older girls converged on Nasha, one whisking her back to the food line while the other two quickly cleaned up the mess. “Zara, Tambara, and Jol,” she said.
“Part of the Four Musketeers,” Pete added. “Joined at the hip.”
“Who’s the fourth?” Remi asked.
“Maryam,” Wendy replied, nodding to the girl who was standing behind the counter, helping serve up the food. “We have a rotation schedule for chores. Today’s her turn on kitchen duty.”
“Glad to see so many girls getting along,” Remi said.
Wendy laughed. “Don’t get me wrong. They definitely have their squabbles. But they want to be here. They quickly learn that everything goes much smoother when they work together.”
Sam was impressed, and it wasn’t long before Nasha had a new tray and was seated at the table with the other girls. She ate her food, her watchful gaze taking in everyone and everything. Even so, Sam decided that Hank was right. She had the distinct appearance of someone who was casing the place and he mentioned it to Remi as they readied themselves for bed that night. “I’ll be surprised if we don’t find a few things missing along the way.”
“I’m less worried about her than I am Amal. I don’t think she’s well. Maybe we should drive her back to the hotel to stay with Renee.”
They had pushed their cots together and were lying on top of them side by side. “After what she’s been through today, it’s expected. If she wants to go back tomorrow, we’ll take her.” Sam put his arm out, drawing Remi toward him. “Nice shooting, by the way.”
“Likewise, Fargo.” She snuggled against him and was asleep within seconds.
The next morning at breakfast, Amal looked considerably better, declining the offer of a return to Jalingo. When they finished eating, Pete and Wendy took the Fargos, Hank, and Amal on a tour of the compound. Pete, having been instrumental in the design and layout, pointed out the solar panels on the south-facing roof of the building that housed the staff quarters and cafeteria. “By the time we’re done,” he said, “the entire school should be completely self-sufficient, including being energy autonomous. We’ve also installed a water purification system at the well.”
The compound was surrounded by a tall, slatted chain-link fence with a gate, which they kept closed and locked. The quadrant of buildings surrounded the large courtyard garden of raised planter beds with a well set in its midst.
“Goats?” Hank asked Pete when he heard bleating coming from the other side of the dorm.
“We have to keep them fenced in behind the dorms or they eat everything in the garden. The chickens,” he said, nodding to the few nearby, who were pecking at the ground, “have free rein.”
Amal watched as a few girls holding handled baskets wandered the grounds searching for eggs. “No wonder breakfast tasted so good.”
“Fresh every day,” Wendy said. “Now, if we could teach the hens to lay their eggs in one spot, we’d have it made.”
“What’s that building?” Hank asked, pointing to a circular structure between the finished dorm and the dorm still under construction.
“Our supply shed,” Pete said. “We wanted to keep it central.”
The four bungalows had wood siding. This, however, had an almost smooth whitewashed plaster exterior. The morning sun glinted off what looked like round tiles, each with a star in the center, inset throughout the plaster. Remi ran her hands over one. “Plastic water bottles?”
“Filled with dry soil,” Pete said. “Lay them like bricks with the bottom facing out, mortar them with mud, and you get the double benefit of insulation and strength.” He looked around, then leaned in close, speaking softly. “Even better, it makes the buildings bulletproof. Safer for the girls. We decided to test the structural strength here. Eventually, we’ll do the same to the other buildings.”
Wendy nodded. “A shame we have to think that way, but with so many of these terrorist groups against educating women, it was a necessity.”
“I like the setup,” Sam said, giving a nod of approval as he looked around. He especially liked the way the buildings surrounded the courtyard, making it very defensible. He turned toward Pete. “You have that inventory list?”
Pete held up the clipboard. “I had a feeling you’d want to go over that.”
“Let’s get started.” He put his hand on Remi’s shoulder. “I’ll catch up with the rest of you in a bit. No sense boring all of you with paperwork.”
“Just make sure you’re back in time for the hard labor.” She smiled at Wendy. “Let’s go see those classrooms.”
“This way,” Wendy said, leading Remi, Amal, and Hank out of the courtyard.
Sam and Pete walked off the opposite direction, Sam looking over the clipboard, which was nothing more than a copy of the invoice he’d picked up from the warehouse in Jalingo. They pretended interest in what was on the paper until the others disappeared inside. As soon as the door closed, Sam glanced at Pete. “Let’s take a look at this thing.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
In the moment of crisis, the wise build bridges,
<
br /> the foolish build dams.
– NIGERIAN PROVERB –
Pete led Sam around to the back of the circular shed. To their left was the pen with a couple of dozen goats. The two full-time live-in staff members, Yaro and his wife, Monifa, were feeding the animals. When Yaro saw them looking at the dirt piled behind the shed, he said something to his wife, then walked over and joined them.
“Yaro,” Sam said, shaking hands with him.
“Glad you made it out here, Mr. Fargo.”
Sam nodded at the dirt. “I see you’ve made good progress.”
“Slow, but steady,” Yaro said.
“Let’s go see how it’s coming along.”
Yaro led them back to the courtyard garden area, gesturing to one of the raised beds, this one with seedlings planted in neat rows, some sort of squash by the looks of the leaves. “That’s how we get rid of it.”
“So far, so good,” Pete said. “No one’s seemed to notice that no matter how much dirt we shovel from the pile, it doesn’t seem to get smaller.”
“How far did this get you?” Sam asked him.
“About the size of a decent basement, which should hold everyone.”
“Stocked?”
“With the basics. Air vents hidden beneath the buildings.” He pointed to the raised foundation of the dorm and schoolroom, grilles visible under each but looking like they belonged to the main structure. “I’d say with what’s down there, they could last a good week to ten days.”
“Longer,” Yaro said, “if we can double the size and get more water stored.”
Sam studied the rows of planters, noting they were mostly complete. “There’s enough lumber in the back of that truck for at least five more planters, in addition to shoring up your cellar,” Sam said, taking a look around the courtyard. “Just not sure where you plan to put more of them.”
“Behind the dorms,” Pete replied. “Wendy calls it functional greenery. It’ll hide the goat pen.”
Yaro glanced over at his wife. “Monifa has told me that the girls are growing suspicious of the dirt. She’s told them it’s a secret project for the garden. So far, that’s kept them from asking more questions.”
Sam nodded in approval. “Looks like the two of you thought of everything. Let’s go see this cellar.”
He followed Pete and Yaro to the shed. Pete opened the door, then stepped back, giving Sam a view inside. Gardening and building tools lined the wall and shelves. The three men entered, Pete closing the door behind them. When he turned a hook on the wall counterclockwise, Sam heard a soft click underneath the wooden floor next to a wooden pallet piled high with empty burlap sacks. Pete pressed on one of the planks with his foot. Another click sounded and the trapdoor raised up slightly.
“The knothole is the handle,” Pete said, lifting it open the rest of the way, revealing a dark tunnel accessed by a ladder leading straight down.
Sam leaned over, looking in. “How long until it’s done?” he asked, his voice echoing into the space.
“At the pace we’re going …” Pete thought about it a moment. “Assuming we can get the extra planters built, a couple of more weeks. It’s all about having a place to hide the dirt. Like I said, no one’s commented that the mountain of soil behind the shed doesn’t shrink.” Pete closed up the tunnel and the three men stepped out of the shed. “What we really need is to finish that second dorm and open up more beds. There’s a lot of interest from the neighboring villages.”
Considering the nearest village was over ten kilometers away, Sam was impressed. “Word’s getting around?”
“Definitely,” Yaro said.
“But,” Pete added, “until we hire more staff, get the planters built, and get the roof on the new dorm, we can’t take any more girls on. We want to make sure we have enough beds. More importantly, that the cellar can hold everyone we bring in.”
Sam gave him a hearty slap on the back. “Good thing I brought help. Speaking of, we should probably catch up to them.”
“I’m assuming you haven’t told Remi’s friends about the tunnel?”
“No. And I’m not planning to. For the same reason I don’t want anyone telling the students. All it takes is one word overheard by the wrong person when they think no one’s listening. Remi’s friends will be gone in a couple of days. None of this affects them in the least.”
Pete closed the shed. Yaro returned to help his wife, and the two men crossed the courtyard toward the classroom building. Inside, they found Remi and the others standing in the doorway of one of the main rooms, where the girls were seated at desks listening to a young woman speaking French and diagramming a sentence on the chalkboard.
Hank stood just outside the doorway, looking back at Wendy. “Why is she teaching French? Isn’t English the official language of Nigeria?”
“This close to the Cameroon border, we figured it was important for the girls to be fluent in both.”
“She seems young to be teaching.”
“Zara,” Wendy replied, keeping her voice low, “is sixteen. But she’s bright in most subjects and extremely gifted in languages, with a knack for retaining almost everything she’s ever read. Much like Mrs. Fargo,” she added, looking over at Remi. “Under normal circumstances, Zara might have been fast-tracked through the lower levels and already be at the university. Her father’s the one who brought her here. You passed his farm on the way up. He said she’d never be allowed that sort of education if she remained where she was.”
“She’ll get there,” Remi said. She motioned Sam to her side. “Look,” she whispered, pointing toward the back of the classroom where Nasha was seated, a small chalkboard in front of her on the desk, a navy backpack still strapped to her shoulders, her complete attention on the instructor.
Wendy smiled. “She’s had some schooling, but it’s clearly been a while. She reads and spells at the level of someone in kindergarten or first grade. Still, she wants to be here. That’s half the battle.”
Remi linked her arm around Sam’s as they left, the group walking down the hall toward the office. “Did you see how happy she was? She hasn’t taken that backpack off since they gave it to her.”
He saw—which was going to make it that much harder when it came time to tell the poor girl she wouldn’t be able to stay.
Remi, no doubt reading his mind, leaned in close, her voice low, heartbroken, as they walked. “You said we weren’t taking her back.”
“If we can’t find out who’s responsible for her, you know we won’t have any choice.”
She crossed her arms, her frustration evident. “Then we need to find them. Someone in this gang she was running with must know something.”
“Possibly.”
“Good. I vote you go talk to the last Kalu on your way to pick up Lazlo. I’ll see if I can’t get directions to his lair for you.”
“You realize Jalingo’s an hour and a half away from the airport?”
“Close enough, Fargo,” she said as Hank caught up to them.
“Hope I’m not interrupting.” He smiled at the group. “Just wondering about this building we’re supposed to be working on.”
It turned out that Hank was as proficient with a hammer and nails as Dr. LaBelle had claimed and they made good progress that first day and the next, finishing up some of the framing. While they worked, Amal, who was doing much better, spent time with the girls in the classroom, discussing archeology.
At their lunch break, they sat around the mess hall table, Remi nursing a blister on her hand from the hammer she’d been wielding. Sam helped apply a new Band-Aid. “A good pair of gloves should help.”
“Oh, no,” Amal said, indicating the food line where Nasha stood. “I hate to say it, but Hank was right. She can’t really help herself.”
Sure enough, Sam saw Nasha look around, then stuff something into her backpack.
Wendy happened to walk into the cafeteria at that very moment, catching the child in the act. “Here, now. What’re you doing there
?”
Nasha spun around, nearly dropping her tray. “Nothing.”
“Are you hungry?”
She shook her head.
Wendy squatted down in front of her. “There’s plenty of food to go around. You don’t need to take it.”
Nasha hid the small pack behind her back. “I might be hungry later.”
“You can ask later. The food’s not going anywhere. I promise.” Wendy held out her hand.
The girl hesitated, then reluctantly reached into her pack, pulling out several rolls.
Sam, watching this, felt Remi’s gaze on him.
“Do something,” she said. “Nasha needs to know she’s safe.”
“Me? What about—”
Clang! Clang! Clang!
“Emergency bell,” one of the girls shouted, and they all went running.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The road to success is always under construction.
– AFRICAN PROVERB –
Sam took a quick look around, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, as the sharp bell rang. “Planned drill, I hope?”
“It is,” Wendy said, earning a look of relief from Amal. Wendy apologized for not warning them, stood, and called out, “Emergency bell. Time to go.” She guided Nasha to the door after the other students, then looked back at Sam. “You’re welcome to finish your coffee.”
Sam rose. “A drill’s a drill. Lead the way, Wendy. We won’t know what to do if we don’t practice.”
Remi, Hank, and Amal followed him from the mess hall out to the courtyard, where they found most of the students rushing to line up behind the four oldest girls, who stood by a stone marker on the ground. There was a lot of talking and laughing among the children while they waited.
Amal smiled when the two smallest girls realized they were in the wrong line and scurried to their proper places. “Haven’t done one of these since grade school,” she said to Remi. “Not sure I’d know what to do.”
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